


Msrah Nights

by BlueRam



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9186626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRam/pseuds/BlueRam
Summary: Yes, the music sang true in his heart this night, but not for joy or for peace…revenge was the song that pumped through his veins, emerald eyes glistening like gold chips as he swept past useless guards and slinked down the corridors of Smenkhkare's palace. He was a shadow, trained to kill the enemy of his fallen empire; to see Msrah and all they stood for pay recompense for the innocent blood spilt, on the behest of their poor seduced prince. The holy men of his country doubted his skill, his loyalty…doubted that he would be able to drive the dagger deep where it mattered most.





	

Loud and clear, the music rose in the dead of night. The market coming a life under the twinkling of sparse stars in the sky. Women wrapped themselves in fine silk, their laughter obscured by dyed cloths from villages afar. Sweet seduction as the music twisted around them, torches set alight, casting fine warm golden light upon mud walls and stone structures. No man or woman paid heed to the shadow that flittered through the town's street, expertly dodging the royal guards that walked by the twos, laughter loud from their lips as they lost them self in cheap ale.

The music sang true in his heart. An Arabian night, the flute twisting sweet seduction as street performers danced in their brightly coloured cloths. Body paint smeared across their bodies, glittering in the ever cold night for a village in the centre of the forbidden desert, twisted around the sprawling palace of the heir.

Smenkhkare Msrah, the one and only heir to the Msrah empire one of four, now three empires of the Majani world. He had a child they said, some woman had given birth to his son after seducing him with vile black magic from the kingdom of Ashrani; the fourth kingdom that was burnt to the ground, destroyed for the treachery that was the air Ashrani breathed.

Magic was vile, the tool of seductress and thieves, the tool of deviants and blasphemers. The Msrah gods wept for that kingdom's corruption and so the people of Msrah rejoiced when their benevolent king ordered Ashrani's destruction.

Yes, the music sang true in his heart this night, but not for joy or for peace…revenge was the song that pumped through his veins, emerald eyes glistening like gold chips as he swept past useless guards and slinked down the corridors of Smenkhkare's palace. He was a shadow, trained to kill the enemy of his fallen empire; to see Msrah and all they stood for pay recompense for the innocent blood spilt, on the behest of their _poor seduced prince_. The holy men of his country doubted his skill, his loyalty…doubted that he would be able to drive the dagger deep where it mattered most.

Doubted him…for wasn't he the…it didn't matter. That was long ago when they were young and mere fools, when he himself was a prince and his country still stood proud. When magic was the air he breathe, his siblings laughing with joy in the streets, the country of Msrah known for war never perceived as a threat to their existence. Before he knew it, the double doors of the prince's private quarters eased open, silent unlike the night market outside that would sing and sensualize the stories of his country's defeat.

Drive the dagger deep where it mattered most…that's right, in Msrah… what was most precious was the first born son. Surrounded with tales of the blessings of their gods and the bounty one should receive for birthing a firstborn that was a son. What was most precious was the first born son of a king, then the first born son of the prince that was the progeny of the king. The loud wails of a child pulled him from his deep thoughts, dagger gripped tight as he slinked into the private rooms of the prince, a royal crib fitted with flowing thin silk of purples and reds, almost at the center of the room.

No one was there but the wailing child, his cries tearing at the heartstrings of whoever had a heart, would tear at his own if not for the duty he must perform that night.

He didn't think, didn't have time to…not with the sound of splashing water from the joining bath of the prince's quarters, not when the child's screams that woke something he tried desperately to ignore for the revenge of his people. Without thought, the dagger poised in the air, pale hands grasping at the flowing silk that shielded the child, the sound of poisoned metal slicing through the air echoed in his ear.

His heart raced, then throbbed painfully at the sudden silence—

"You disappoint me…I've never known you to ever miss your target. To commit such a terrible mistake with a wavering heart…whatever heart you claim to possess…Harry." His hand was held in a tight grip, painful as strong fingers dug into soft skin, the poisoned dagger clattering to the floor. Harry released the shuddering breath he did not realize he had held, his racing heart calming as he opened emerald eyed and for the first time looked into eyes of the babe he was ordered to kill. Pure innocence, the child had stopped wailing, wide gold eyes staring at him with so much confusion before small hands reached for him, an excited bubble of laughter from a small pouty mouth.

"Smenkhkare," Harry whispered, very much aware of the man plastered behind him. His strong build, naked and pressed against him as he held his hand captive, a hand tight an unforgiving around his waist. He glared down at the child that smiled so beautifully at him, his hair crimson red, and skin smooth mocha…the spitting image of his father.

"I will forgive you this transgression if you grant me just one thing, Ashrani witch." Smenkhkare was cruel, each word from his lips like the poison of the venomous snakes of the Djarkan empire, that if whispers were true would soon fall. Harry cursed himself for the hitch of his breath as the hand that had held his wrist captive trailed up the soft skin of his inner thighs, traitorous arousal raging as the memory of their heated past invaded his mind.

They were lovers once weren't they…are still lovers, his cruel mind hissed.

"We both know you lie! Be it by your will alone you would have me stripped bare to appease your sins!" Harry hissed, as he suddenly turned in the man's embrace a new dagger digging into the prince's throat, threatening to pierce through flesh and bone, as a trickle of blood staining ebony skin.

Smenkhkare only smirked, a wicked expression as his gold eyes glinted like the expertly carved blades he wielded, the blades he used to cut down all that stood in his way…be they enemy our friend. He was a handsome man, no one could dispute that, with his chiseled features and wine colored hair that past his shoulders. He was tall, exceptionally so…like all the warriors of Msrah were, covered in scars for battles won, and mistakes made.

"Appease my sins…truly a man after my own heart." Smenkhkare drawled, pushing the dagger away from his throat as he moved pass Harry the would be assassin and stared down at his son. The child squealed in excitement, a sound that grew louder as the man cradled his child against his chest. Smenkhakre couldn't ignore the sudden bout of fondness as he watched how Harry's ice cold façade softened in light of the bubbly child, how his hands flexed as if he wished to hold the child himself and protect him from the world.

His motherly nature would never be removed, even when beaten by Ashrani holy men for embodying the spirit of a woman. Harry, his precious Harry…his lover no matter how the man denied it, even as he returned time and time again to kill his son, only to end up wrapped in lust, giving in to the whims of his heart over his country's revenge. Laying with the Msrah prince that would soon be king, his sworn enemy because of love…Harry, precious Harry.

He was beautiful, would always be, with his flowing hair twined with jewels and soft black silk that wrapped around his lithe form, his skin strangely pale like that snow they spoke of in the Djarkan country.

Without thought he placed the babbling child in the startled magic user's arms, watching as the man cradled the child close to him, tears brimming at the edge of cold green eyes.

"This game of ours should end love…you have not the heart of a warrior. You are not like me who would cut down man woman our child without a blink of an eye, never mind their innocence."

"It's as I said before…do one thing for me, and I will let your transgression rest. Be the mother of my child, Harry. Be my consort and not only will you continue to live, but I myself will strike down the Msrah king with my own hands…see your country it's just revenge."

Harry froze at the words, eyes trained on the muscled back of the prince so many sang of as a cruel tyrant…yet his country celebrated with such vigour.

It was true, Smenkhkare was a cruel tyrant,

But…

Looking down at the smiling babe, a tiny hand held his own as the child gurgled…he knew he already had his answer.


End file.
